Wish I Couldn't Feel Anything
by Parnassus
Summary: Tag to 3x16 No Rest for the Wicked - Bobby's POV: "And Dean…his boy. His boy was a horrible, bloody mess. Torn to shreds. Lying there like a Hellhound's chew toy. It wasn't right. His boy didn't deserve to go like that."


**Summary: The immediate aftermath of "No Rest for the Wicked". Sam and Bobby have to deal with their loss. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own the boys or their surrogate father. **

**A/N: I know this has probably been done like a zillion times, but... *pouts* I wanted to write one! So here's my take.**

* * *

He offered to help. Over and over.

But Sam wouldn't hear of it. And when he'd persisted, Sam just started ignoring him.

Damned Winchester pride – stubbornness - whatever you wanted to call it.

_I can do it. _

And right then, it was breaking Bobby's heart.

When he'd found the kid on the bloodied floor of that cursed house, clutching his dead brother, he hadn't known what to do. Bobby always had an answer, a reassurance, a word of advice. But finding his boys like that - Sam weeping like his entire world had been ripped from him - he'd found himself at a devastating loss for words and without any comfort to offer.

And Dean…his boy. His boy was a horrible, bloody mess. Torn to shreds. Lying there like a Hellhound's goddamn chew toy. It wasn't right. His boy didn't deserve to go like that.

_Dead_.

He couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the reality even as it lay staring up at him with those dull green eyes.

Dean Winchester had always seemed so much larger than life, brimming with vibrant enthusiasm and hard-earned bravado. Always with a snarky quip and fond smirk for his little brother. Always with a wary eye and lightening-quick draw for everyone else. And always with the same patented stubbornness. Ran in the family.

Or rather, it had.

Bobby recalled the first time he'd met the brothers.

It was about a year after Mary's death and he'd only run into John Winchester a few times before, helping him out of a pinch here and there. When he'd found out John had children, Bobby had been quick to assert how strongly he disapproved of dragging two young boys along on a hunt.

Dragging them into the life. But the tight bond had been obvious and Bobby knew the young father wouldn't leave his boys alone with anyone else for more than a short stretch. Even so, Bobby implored John to leave Dean and Sam with him anytime he could. Children ought to have stability, he'd said.

Bobby never thought the stubborn hunter would take him up on the offer.

But that chilly night in October, when Bobby heard the throaty rumble of the distinctive Chevy roll up his driveway, he hadn't had a clue what he'd be getting himself into - how much those two boys would come to mean to him.

_Bobby opened the door and found John Winchester hustling two tiny figures and a handful of belongings out of the car and up his front porch. _

_He looked agitated and dangerous. Like he was on a trail. Like he didn't have time to look after two small boy's safety and do the job the way it needed to be done. _

_Bobby noticed the older boy first. His sandy blond hair sticking out like a porcupine all over his head and the rumpled jacket that was a few sizes to large hanging like a blanket around his small frame._

_Despite the disheveled, child-like appearance, Bobby couldn't help but notice the intensity of the green eyes staring back up at him. Bobby was hard pressed not to feel uncomfortable under their protective scrutiny. Five years old and already a hunter in training. _

_The reason for the kid's wariness had his small arms curled around Dean's neck and a curly head resting on his shoulder. Large hazel eyes peered up curiously at Bobby from beneath sleepy eyelids, the one-year old sizing him up right along with his brother. But Sam seemed to decide that Bobby wasn't an immediate threat and snuggled his face contentedly into his brother's neck, small hands fisting in Dean's shirt. _

_Dean rubbed his baby brother's back, eyes never leaving Bobby, and gently coaxed Sam back to sleep. The toddler rubbed his eyes and yawned drowsily as Dean carried him inside the house. _

"_I appreciate this, Singer," John said as he handed over the small duffel and a few choice toys. "Won't be for more than a day or so."_

"_They're welcome to stay here as long as you need," Bobby replied._

"_Thank you," John knelt beside his boys and placed a firm hand on Dean's shoulder. Sam fussed himself awake and immediately reached for his father. John smiled and took the baby in his arms, kissed his cheek, and settled him on his shoulder. _

"_Daddy," Dean stared solemnly at his father. "How long this time?" _

"_Just a day or two, kiddo. You're gonna stay here with Bobby, all right? I'll be back before you know it." _

_For a moment, the young boy's chin quivered and he lowered his head as his eyes filled with tears. John squeezed his shoulder and smiled reassuringly. Dean inhaled a small breath and looked back up at his father with determined resolve. _

"_Obey Bobby, watch out for Sammy, all right?" At the mention of his name, Sam glanced up at John and patted the broad chest affectionately. _

"_Yes, sir." _

"_That's my boy," John praised as he leaned in to plant a kiss on Dean's forehead. He gently pried Sam off his chest and handed the baby back to Dean. Sam's face scrunched in annoyance and he immediately pouted for his father. John ignored the outstretched arms with a sad smile and turned to shake Bobby's hand and thank him one last time before heading out the door. _

_Bobby watched the Impala pull away before turning back to his two young guests. Sam whimpered and sniffled pitifully against Dean's chest as the older boy tried to soothe his miserable sobs. _

"_He's just sleepy," Dean quickly informed Bobby when he noticed the hunter's concerned gaze. _

"_I have your room all ready," Bobby smiled as he picked up their bag and led the way down the hall. Dean hesitated a moment before nodding and turning to follow. _

"_I can set up a crib for Sam if-"_

"_No," Dean's eyes flared and he abruptly took a step back, instinctively turning his small body to shield Sam. "No, sir," he amended as though recalling instructions. "Sammy always sleeps with me." As if to prove Dean's point, Sam patted his brother's cheek before clutching determinedly at his shirt. _

"_Oh, well all right," Bobby walked over to the small linen closet and pulled out a few extra blankets. "Turned up the heat, but it gets pretty cold in here at night. Just lemme know if y'all need more blankets. Bathroom's right outside and my room's just a little further down the hall there." _

"_Okay," Dean nodded as he processed the information and took stock of his new accommodations. _

"_You want some help getting Sam ready for bed?" Bobby shifted his feet uncomfortably, still unsure of exactly what to do with two kids or what bedtime entailed. He hadn't really thought much past giving them a safe place to stay. Placing them out of danger. But Dean shook his head and gave a small smile, as though sensing Bobby's uncertainty. _

"_No, thanks. I got him," Dean tucked his dozing brother more snugly against his shoulder. "I can do it." _

"_Well," Bobby scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "I'll just leave you two to get settled in, then. Holler if you need anything at all." _

"_I will," Dean carefully placed Sam in the center of the bed and began rummaging around in the duffel. Bobby wasn't used to being dismissed by five-year olds. _

_He shuffled outside the bedroom and cracked the door. Figuring the boys might be hungry, he retreated to the kitchen to warm up some soup and toast some bread. A few minutes later when he returned with the dinner tray, he paused outside the door. Dean was talking softly to his brother as he went about the business of changing his diaper and wiggling him into his pajamas. _

"_Whadd'ya think, Sammy," Dean asked as he tucked Sam's arm inside a warmer nightshirt. The baby cooed and kicked his feet. _

"_Yeah," Dean agreed. "I don't think Bobby's so bad. He has a pretty cool house. And don't worry, Daddy's only gonna be gone for a day. That's not so bad. Promise." _

"_D," Sam gurgled and reached for his brother. Dean laughed quietly and hoisted Sam into a sitting position. Sam lurched forward and crawled into Dean's lap, rubbing his head against Dean's leg. _

"_Sammy," Dean smiled as he tussled his brother's soft hair. "You need a haircut." Hearing his brother's amusement, Sam quirked his head and giggled before reaching up to tangle his own fingers in Dean's hair. _

"_No, not me. Mine's short," Dean chuckled as he leaned his head down a little further so Sam wouldn't have to reach so far. "If your hair gets much longer people are gonna start thinking you're a girl, Sammy." Sam cooed his baby language in response. _

"_Maybe Daddy can give you one w-when he gets back," Dean suddenly looked like he was on the verge of tears again. He sniffed and rubbed a hand under his nose. _

"_D," Sam repeated as he tugged at Dean's wrist and gazed up at his brother in confusion, sensing the shift in the mood. He patted Dean's arm, as if trying to comfort in his own childish way. _

"_It's okay, Sammy," he hugged his brother to his chest and Sam settled his head in the crook of Dean's neck. "You just go to sleep. I'm watchin' out for us. It's all gonna be okay." Sam shoved a thumb in his mouth and his eyes slowly began drifting shut as Dean rocked them gently back and forth on the bed. _

_Bobby swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He knew the kid was trying to reassure himself as much as he was his little brother. His heart clenched at the realization that the scene he'd just witnessed probably played out most nights their father was away, leaving them with a stranger or a distant relative they'd never met for days or weeks at a time. Bobby decided right then that his house was going to be a second home for those two. _

_Bobby had almost forgotten about the food. He tapped lightly on the door and whispered so as not to wake Sam, "Dean? Got some food here if you're hungry." _

"_Oh…um, thanks," Dean whispered back as Bobby carefully opened the door. When the boy didn't say anything else or give any other indication, Bobby tiptoed over to the nightstand and placed the tray beside the bed. _

"_Okay, well I'll just leave it here in case you get hungry later." _

"'_Kay," Dean nodded. Bobby unscrewed a bottle of water and set it beside the food. Figured the kid might have trouble with the cap. He was turning to leave when he felt a small tug on his shirt. Dean was looking shyly up at him, the first time Bobby had seen something other than suspicion directed towards him. _

"_Sammy and me like your house," Dean said. _

_Bobby smiled down at the boy, "Yeah, guess it ain't so bad at that."_

Bobby scrubbed a hand over his watering eyes and placed an unsteady hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam flinched and hugged his brother closer, slowly rocking him back and forth.

"Sam," Bobby whispered and couldn't seem to get past that.

Sam's breath hitched as he carefully wiped away the tears that had dripped onto this brother's face.

"Sam," Bobby knelt down behind the boy and tried not to think about standing in Dean's blood. "We should-"

"No," Sam breathed. Shaky but resolved.

Bobby paused a moment before trying again. "I was just going to say," he began quietly. "We should get him cleaned up."

Sam turned his wet, dazed eyes up at Bobby and then back to his brother. Slowly, he nodded his head and glanced up hopefully. "He needs new clothes."

"We can do that," Bobby reassured. "First we need to get him in the car."

Again, Sam was slow to react. Shock, Bobby realized. "Here," he said, carefully lifting Dean's head. "Lemme help."

"No," Sam growled as he shoved Bobby's hand away and wrapped himself protectively around his brother. He continued to glare for a moment before dully lowering his head, voice softening in shame. "No, Bobby. I got him. I can do it."

Bobby swallowed his tears and backed away.

Sam affectionately gathered his brother in his arms, picking him up like Dean weighed nothing.

Bobby followed them outside and watched as Sam carefully tucked Dean into the backseat. After fussing for several minutes to make sure his brother was comfortable, Sam straightened, opened the passenger's side door, and paused. Bobby saw it on his distraught face, the moment he realized.

"I'll drive," Bobby said.

The fragile relief in Sam's eyes was painful and Bobby wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it together.

"Thanks," Sam whispered and slid into his usual seat.

He didn't fight Sam very hard on the burial issue. Nor did he protest when Sam insisted on doing everything himself, efficiency and logic carefully masking despondent heartbreak.

He stayed with the car while Sam sat up all night, keeping watch over his brother's grave. Fervently promising Dean he could still fix it. That he was going to get him out. Telling him insignificant stories from their childhood, his college days, listing off things Dean did that annoyed or impressed him. Telling him how much everything hurt. Until, finally, Sam fell asleep beside his brother.

When morning came, Sam returned to the car. His bleary eyes cold as marble. Steeled with determination. He was clutching something in his fist. Bobby started the engine and didn't even try to hide his tears when Sam reverently pulled the amulet out of his hand and placed it around his neck, tenderly stroking the worn metal with the edge of his thumb.

"We've got work to do," he said.

* * *

It had been weeks.

Weeks of furious research and investigation. Night after night feverishly scouring every possibility, every book, every rumor.

Sam's determination never faltered. In all honesty, Bobby was scared for the boy. He barely ate, almost never slept, subsisted on coffee and energy drinks – he was slowly deteriorating before Bobby's eyes.

Bobby didn't know what he'd do if he lost them both.

"I can save him," Sam repeated over and over. Day after fruitless day without fail, like a holy mantra. Anytime Bobby tried reasoning with him, begged him to get a few hours shut-eye or eat a proper meal, it was always the same.

_Not until Dean's back. _

It was only a matter of time. At least Bobby hoped, because he was at the end of his rope.

He wasn't really surprised the night Sam staggered into the house at four A.M. – falling down drunk.

Bobby heard a loud crash and angry cursing and followed the ruckus into the kitchen.

Sam was on the floor, back braced against the open fridge and sitting in the midst of a shattered case of beer bottles. He turned his glassy, bloodshot eyes on Bobby and flung his arms up in a defeated gesture.

"They don' want me," Sam laughed. The sound bitter and grating as it was sad. His arms flopped back down to the sopping floor.

"Boy, where the hell have you been?" Then asked warily, "What'd you do?"

Sam snorted and rolled his head against the refrigerator. "Nothin'. Not a fuckin' thing."

Bobby hoisted Sam up and hitched two-hundred some odd pounds of drunken deadweight over his shoulder. The kid reeked like he'd gone swimming in a distillery.

"Nobody, Bobby," Sam lurched to the side and Bobby staggered before catching his balance against the doorframe, steadying them both. "Nobody wan's me," Sam cried.

"I want you, idjit." Bobby had no idea what the hell the kid was babbling about, but he figured it was as good a time as any to reinstate a little self-worth.

Sam laughed that horrible laugh again and shook his head vehemently, "S'not wha' I mean."

"Sam, you just need to sleep this off," Bobby dragged him towards the bedroom. "C'mon, kid."

"They took D'n…wan'ed him," Sam slurred miserably. "Why didn' they wan' me?" Sam choked on a sob as Bobby lowered his giant frame down on the quilted bed.

"I don't know, son," Bobby sighed. He pulled off Sam's boots and maneuvered his long legs under the covers. "You just get some rest. I'll be here."

Sam hiccupped through another breathy sob and rolled onto his stomach. "I can't do it, Bobby," he whispered. "I can't do it."

Bobby scrubbed a hand over his beard and fought the tears welling behind his eyes. He hiked the covers up around the boy's shoulders and smoothed the unruly hair out of his face.

"Go to sleep, Sam."

Bobby retrieved a few bottles of water, a trashcan, a bottle of Advil, and his paperback. He set the smaller items on the nightstand and the can beside the bed.

He flicked on a small lamp and settled himself in a chair over in the corner with the book. Within minutes he was as dead to the world as his young charge.

* * *

Bobby startled awake, disoriented and groggy as he glanced around the room trying to figure out what had woken him. Sam wasn't in the bed. Bobby heard a choked sound from somewhere on the other side and rose to investigate.

Sam was on the floor again, half the quilt tangled in his uncooperative legs and the other half draped haphazardly over the bed as if he'd just rolled off of it. He was curled around the trashcan, swallowing and panting raggedly through his misery. Bobby grimaced sympathetically and knelt down on protesting knees, placing a steadying hand on Sam's trembling back.

"Aw hell, kid."

Sam moaned and coughed, leaning his head even further into the safety of the plastic coated can when he finally started throwing up.

"D…De-" Sam gagged.

"All right, Sam," Bobby soothed. "You're all right, son."

"N-no," Sam sobbed, clinging impossibly tighter to the trashcan. "D-eee," he hiccupped. "Please…please…"

"I know, I know. But Sam, it's gonna be all right, you'll see. It'll be all right." But it wasn't. Sam wasn't calming down. He was growing more hysterical by the second and Bobby was at a complete loss. The only person who could make it better wasn't around anymore. And even though Bobby had seen this coming, knew it needed to happen, he couldn't stand seeing his boy like this. Couldn't stand not being able to do a damn thing to fix it.

"No," Sam cried. Huge miserable tears spilled down his flushed cheeks as he drew a shaking breath, only to dissolve into heaving sobs. "S'not," he insisted. "Don' un'erstand. Need him. C-can't…do it…alone."

"You ain't alone, Sam." Bobby hugged the poor kid to his chest and rubbed his back, gently shushing him.

"Oh, God…p-please," Sam whimpered as he pulled away from Bobby's embrace. "De…_Dean_, please… please don' leave me here," he wrapped both arms around his stomach and collapsed to the floor, trembling and weeping and pleading for his brother.

Bobby stayed by his side the rest of the night, offering water when the kid was lucid, cleaning him up when Sam cried himself sick and vomited the water back up all over himself and the carpet, and comforting as best he could when Sam started sobbing for Dean all over again.

_Useless_, Bobby thought. He was absolutely useless. Couldn't even offer the kid a small measure of peace - because Sam's world had been stolen from him, and what could he possibly say or do that would make that all right?

When Sam eventually cried himself quiet, exhausted and heartbroken, he passed out in a restless sleep against Bobby's shoulder. The sun was just peeking through the dreary window, catching light off the dust particles floating lazily in its path to the carpet. Utterly spent, Bobby dozed off with him.

Several hours later, when Sam fought his way out of a nightmare and blinked over at the older man, somehow, Bobby knew everything had changed.

Sam didn't say anything. He picked himself up, tossed the damp quilt back on the mattress and made his way to the bathroom. Moments later, Bobby heard the shower running.

He cracked his abused back and shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee, leaving Sam to clean himself up.

A while later, as Bobby sat nursing a hot mug, Sam staggered into the kitchen, still dripping wet and barely in a pair of sweats. Bobby watched as he hunted carelessly through the cabinets, finally producing an unopened bottle of whiskey and trudged back to his room.

With a weary sigh, Bobby rose to follow. Sam collapsed on the bed, allowing the bottle to dangle over the edge. He popped the cap with his thumb and rolled onto his back, taking several long swallows. When he was done, he dropped the bottle the short distance to the floor and wiped the back of his hand across his lips.

"Sam…" Bobby started, but Sam rolled away from him and pulled the covers up around his ears.

It was a quiet day. No incessant turning of pages or scrolling for potential solutions, no angry outbursts, no obstinate refusals to give up, no talk of saving, no sobbing for someone who wasn't coming back. Only the silence.

As dark clouds rolled in to block the sun in time for an evening shower, Sam wobbled back into the kitchen, half-heartedly searching for anything else to dull the pain.

Bobby sat at the table, book open in front of him, but he could've sworn he'd been rereading the same paragraph for over an hour.

Sam was wasted - again. But not in the sloppy, desperate way he'd been before. He'd numbed himself, drowned the agony in eighty-proof so that just maybe it wouldn't matter so much. He dug out a second bottle, spared a disinterested glance at the angry sheets of rain pelting against the window and breathed a shaking sigh.

As he made his way back, Bobby reached for Sam's hand, the one clutching the bottle. He closed his fingers over Sam's, silently offering to help. Sam smiled sadly and gave Bobby's shoulder a gentle pat.

The next morning, Sam was gone. He didn't come back. Bobby never stopped searching, checking with anyone and everyone for updates, trying to keep track. But in the end, it didn't matter.

He'd lost both his boys.

* * *

**End. **

* * *

**Thanks for reading! If you have a moment I'd love to hear what you thought. **


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